


Behind the Silver Screen

by PsychedelicDreamboat



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, IT Chapter 2
Genre: Imaginary Scenario, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pre-IT Chapter Two (2019), blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-12-01 20:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20889836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychedelicDreamboat/pseuds/PsychedelicDreamboat
Summary: Eddie finds one of Richie's Netflix specials and a certain part sets him off that leaves him in need and old memories begin to resurface, though he's not sure whether they're real or imagined.





	Behind the Silver Screen

Sunset was painting itself across Eddie’s half-closed curtains. Sheens of gold, orange, and red danced across the flaps in seemingly slow-motion as Eddie imagined the sun slowly dipping itself into the polluted horizon of the New York sky.

Myra was off on a cruise with her girlfriends, headed for the Bahamas. It’d be a week or two before she came back. Eddie got the greenlight for a paid vacation just as Myra made a whole ritual of saying goodbye before going down the elevator where her friends would greet her in their complex’s lobby. He grimaced slightly remembering how she’d coax him in a high-pitched crescendo for him to say ‘I love you’ just about five times before springing him into a suffocating hug. He could still feel the heavy touch of her kisses and her too-warm hands grasping at his cheeks.

Eddie sat with his knees up facing the glowing TV in their living room. He felt warm against the soft white leather couch. The pillows were plumped and comforting. He had settled in just a plain t-shirt and sweats, forgoing socks for whatever reason. His body heat warmed his spot on the couch, so his feet were fine for the moment. He wasn’t one for going out much even during his holidays, which he knew delighted his wife. He rolled his eyes at that.

Eddie was idly browsing through Netflix, trying to find something interesting. He’d gone through his usual recommendation of animal documentaries, finding that he’d watched all of the recent releases much to his chagrin. He sighed, moving the cursor down towards comedies. He blankly scrolled through, nothing seeming to catch his eye. It wasn’t until he had almost reached the end where he let his feet fall on the plush rug with a slight thump. The sun had retired for the day, the living room bathed in a wash of navy blue. If Myra were home, she’d cluck about him to turn on the lights. What would happen if he needed glasses at his age? He needed to take care of himself, especially his eyes, they were one of the most important vessels in experiencing the world, yada, yada, yada. He leaned forward, squinting at the smallish thumbnail, not from (maybe) needing glasses or anything but making sure his eyes weren’t tricking him.

There was no reason for him to pause at this particular thumbnail. It was every other generic-looking, white guy with one of his arms outstretched, the other holding onto a mic unlike that of holding-onto-a-coffee-cup sort of way. It was probably the backdrop, making Eddie wonder what sort of stage setup the guy was performing at. It looked like a large fake prop that resembled the top half of a hot-air balloon. The stripes were red and white like an old-fashioned barber’s pole. Eddie could feel his heart pounding for no specific reason and decided to fix his attention onto the guy.

He was a man made of gangly limbs. His clothes seemed to mirror his half-slouch in the frozen position he was stuck in on the thumbnail, folding into him as if they would swallow him up. Unruly dark curls atop a comically wide forehead. Large coke-rimmed glasses that he had probably grown into, the kind you’d see nerdy characters wear in old films. 5 o’clock shadow across the bottom of his square-shaped head. His grin was wide and looked devilish, like he was ready to spill the beans on an embarrassing incident that happened when you were in elementary. What surprised Eddie the most were his eyes. His actions were all mirth, but his eyes held an unknown depth he couldn’t quite place. After scoring holes into the man’s visage, Eddie decided to look at the title of this specific comedy special.

_Richie Tozier – Live, Laugh, Puke. _Eddie snorted. What a stupid fucking title. He hit play immediately afterwards.

Eddie watched the man practically glide onto the stage with the barber pole prop seemingly illuminating his outfit, a tacky tropical tree-flecked pullover opening to a plain white tee and easy black slacks. The crowd was already applauding raucously as the man, Richie Tozier, flailed his arm around throughout the theatre room and blowing noisy kisses across the hall.

_“He’s not bad…” _ Eddie begrudgingly thought. His arms were now folded across his chest tightly. He couldn’t understand why he was feeling so goddamn _pissed. _It’d been forever since he felt this kind of primal rage. It felt like he’d pulled it from a place he’d pushed out and forgotten, like opening and blowing off the dust and cobwebs of an old chest you found in your grandmother’s attic.

This Richie guy’s jokes landed. But there was something about them that didn’t feel _right._ They were funny, sure, and Eddie stuttered himself to silence realizing he was laughing at them occasionally. Why, why didn’t it feel right? It wasn’t like he _knew_ the man. He’d never seen him ever in his life.

It wasn’t until he reached the middle of the special where things went south. Richie was going over an anecdote where he’d broken a rental surfboard while on a vacation with some of his other comedian friends. Made a shitty joke referencing that stupid ‘Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini’ song.

There was a part where he was shoving one of his friends up towards a high cliff located at the beach they were staying at. His friend protesting how he’d fucking die if he jumped down.

Richie brings his mic close to his lips. His eyes conspiratory. He’s looking right at the camera (at him) and the eye contact feels like it’s searing right into Eddie’s soul. His voice dropped to a low whisper. “What, are you chicken?”

Eddie feels a spike of heat go right down his groin. He realizes he’s gripping the pillow closest to him, settling it with an ironclad hold over his lap.

Before he knows it, he sees the idiot mime pushing his friend over the cliff’s edge, exaggerating his limbs, imagining what his friend looks like as he lets him belly-flop into the waters below.

Eddie is taking in slow, almost choking breaths. His left hand is instinctively itching for his inhaler, long-gone. Something is tickling at the back of his head, a fuzzy, distant memory trying to push its way through.

A vanilla cone melting in his hand, an arm splint with a distinct red ‘V’ in the middle, a dusty hammock and someone kicking off a book or glasses off another, and something else that blurred away before fading entirely.

Eddie could almost taste the hot air of many summers past, the chewy smell of tall, wild grass, and a face, a cheek, a soft, clammy grip, and something warm buzzing at the end of his lips.

He let out an audible gasp, looking around wildly. He was in his living room. The sound of cars and people buzzing in the city below reaching his ears. He was in New York. He looked back at the screen. Richie. The man droning on and on, on a joke he didn’t know the context of. Spacing out in that weird daze he got himself in. Weird. Really weird.

It’d been…a while since he last had any action or intimacy. Sex with Myra felt more methodical than pleasurable. It felt like a ritual that was scripted and rehearsed than something that was done in a wave of horniness. When searching backwards on childhood memories on what he thought about the subject of coitus, he came up with almost nothing. Still, he felt like there was something missing in the dance he did with his wife. It wasn’t something he really liked to think about much, either.

The heat was still thrumming on his skin. He felt almost dirty on what he did next.

_“No one’s here, it’s not like the fucking dipshit can see you from behind the screen,” _Eddie thought hotly.

He took off his watch, an expensive gift Myra had gotten for him from their last anniversary, and placed it haphazardly on the coffee table.

He dipped his hand into the center of his pants. He breathed and almost sent a mental apology to the guy as he took hold of his dick. He tested his fingers around the head, humming softly under his breath. Eddie closed his eyes and began to draw up a scenario in his head.

The two of them. On a couch. Eddie’s couch or the comedian’s, who cares! It was a couch. They were wearing…loungewear. He was in a similar attire of his short-sleeved shirt and sweats. Richie was in a fuzzy, gray hoodie with loose, jogging pants. His hands were large and hairy. They slicked up Eddie’s shirt. His big-jeweled rings tickled coolly against his warmed skin. Then the man would take his fingers and lightly twist Eddie’s nipples. A low groan fell from Eddie’s lips.

Richie would then hug him from behind, arching his erection against Eddie’s back, so he could feel the whisper of cloth just hiding it from view. Play with Eddie’s nipples some more. Bring his lips close to Eddie’s earlobe, saying, _“You wanna continue? Or are you chicken?” _

Eddie turned, his eyes half-lidded and seething. With what, rage or something else? The man wasn’t even attractive. He had a receding hairline and his body didn’t align right with his head. His voice wasn’t sexy and he could piece together realistically he’d probably have a terrible bedroom voice, too. And yet here he was, jerking off to a complete stranger just because he did public ASMR on mic over an otherwise innocent phrase to a whole theatre of also, strangers.

Eddie imagined Richie then turning his face over, kissing him sloppily. It would feel both terrible and wonderful. Richie pulled away with a heady smirk, enjoying how blasted Eddie looked. Eddie could only imagine what he looked like to the other man. Eddie outstretched his hands, settling the crooked glasses on the other man’s face before giving one of the lens a flick with his fingers. Richie laughed, taking Eddie gently by the wrists. They’d fall onto the pillows, the couch giving a protest at their added weight.

Richie taking each hand, pressing an agonizing kiss into each of Eddie's palms. He’d let them fall back on the shorter man's side. His warm, hairy hands would ghost over his clothed thighs, going slow, too slow.

“Hurry up,” Eddie’d huff.

Richie laughed. His breath would ghost over Eddie’s crotch. It made him gulp audibly.

Richie took hold of Eddie’s waistband before letting it go, the band letting out a loud _slap._

“You dick!” Eddie cried.

“Yeah, but I'm _your_ dick,” Richie said with a shit-eating grin.

Eddie wants to smack him, but doesn't.

He pulled down Eddie’s waistband and licked a stripe towards the tip. An experimental kiss on the head before wrapping his lips around his member. While Richie the Comedian was doing his thing, he couldn’t help but notice the man’s cheeks hollowing in and out. He looked up at Eddie through his eyelashes, his face most likely red and wrecked, and winked.

He began to massage Eddie’s balls, swapping his spit back and forth between his length and his balls. He’d kiss the vein of Eddie’s dick, before kneading his teeth playfully in the middle, causing the shorter man to hiss under his breath.

He could hear in the back of his head erupting applause and he was so, so close. Let the unfamiliar familiarity of the man’s name fall from his mouth in a loud moan. There was chanting, almost cult-like, and Richie pressed his lips towards his member, feeling the vibration of his groan cycle up and down his dick. Eddie felt like he reached heaven.

Eddie’s vision went white hot. He felt a guttural noise rip from the ends of his throat. He could feel the ribbons of come fall onto his fingers and inevitably onto the carpet below. He absently thought about how much of a pain it would be to clean up the mess. He grabbed the box of tissues at the end of the coffee table and began wiping himself up.

Remotely, he imagined Richie’s reaction. His eyes were half-lidded and slightly glazed. His glasses were askew and a few splashes of come had painted one side of his face. He’d lick some of that come off, a smirk ghosting over his dumb, handsome face. A cackle would escape his lips and he’d mouth the words, _“Did that feel good?”_

He looked up at the TV, surprised that the program was still going. Richie was waving to an adoring crowd as the camera panned towards a parade of clapping hands. The camera focused on him again. It zoomed into his face as he sent a cheeky wink and widespread kiss towards the crowd, earning him a deafening cheer throughout the theatre.

Eddie groaned, falling back into the couch, feeling spent. He picked up the remote with his clean hand and switched off the TV before the next special would come up in the queue.

Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he had such a satisfying me-time sesh. He looked at his other hand with a look of mild disgust. He wiped off the drying remnants into a tissue. He didn’t need to worry about his wife coming back anytime soon but still felt the paranoia of his deed lingering in the back of his mind.

He was thirty-six for Christ’s sake, it was still pretty _normal_ to do these kinds of things, even for his age.

Eddie grazed a finger across his lips.

_Richie Tozier. _

Just who was this man that made him feel so tangled and riled up inside?

The sound of traffic and roaring cars provided a comforting hum he latched onto. The room was completely dark now. The only light that came through was a sliver of moonlight hitting him on the side of his face from a curtain flap that was folded more open than the others.

Eddie pressed his face towards the back cushions of his couch. His eyelids felt heavy as he sank back into the pillow by his head. There was time to think about this shit tomorrow. When he had a clearer head. His mind was a confusing maze, puzzle pieces of memories past were missing, leaking cracks of things that should be there but aren’t.

_Tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow. _

Eddie sank into a deep sleep. He could barely see the fragment of a distant memory or dream playing in the back of his eyelids.

The clammy hands of a young boy. Holding onto the sharp whiteness of an arm splint. The hurried scrawls of ‘R’ and ‘E’ overlooking a bridge. Someone cupping his cheeks, youthful and awkward. The balmy air after a first kiss. A laugh bubbling in the air. Foreheads touching, whispered words falling from cherry red lips.

They soon fell away, the only things left was Eddie’s loud snoring and the phantom pain that ran up his right arm.

**Author's Note:**

> I found the idea of Eddie getting accidentally turned on watching one of Richie's specials as a totally plausible thing that could've happened. I was listening to Tear Ducks' 'Keys in the Front Door' almost on loop the whole time while writing this. It's only my second time writing smut and actually putting it out there. I feel a little self-conscious but hopefully you guys enjoy it. IT has been my obsession lately and I'm definitely going to write more fics in the near future. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Edited 10/4//19: Fixed some grammatical errors and added some new bits to the fic.


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